


five am

by or-ng-c-ss-dy (o_r_ng_c_ss_dy)



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: Angst, I'm bummed because Best Friends deserved to win so have some sad shit, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, could be read as romantic or platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25027108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_r_ng_c_ss_dy/pseuds/or-ng-c-ss-dy
Summary: his voice was raw in the stale air, and he really wished that he had just never spoken at all.
Relationships: Trent Baretta & Chuck Taylor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	five am

**Author's Note:**

> fuck this shit, best friends deserved to win and im gonna be both sad and mad over it for a long time. have some angsty shit that i dug out of my google drive account. 
> 
> they just....deserved better. fuck.
> 
> enjoy, i guess.

The red of the alarm clock at his side blinks the wrong time against the mottled wall of the motel room, harsh beats. It echoes the steadiness pounding in his heart and the roar in his eyes, blocking out the traffic and general noise of such a shitty roadside place, every sound but the ones he makes and the uneven breathing of Trent on his left.

Neither of them were asleep, even though the dark of the sky outside was starting to lighten, making all the shadows lean at a different angle. Chuck sat up, watching his own shadow against the wall, his own mirror image, silhouetted and slightly different from the image he had of himself in his own head. 

A part of his mind told him that it wasn’t really him against the wall, that it was a different version of himself. He couldn’t even begin to say what that meant, but he slung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet pushed into the worn, filthy carpet and he was glad that he was wearing socks because of Trent’s complaining about his bare feet being cold.

Just another thing Trent had to say about him.

“Where are you going?” Trent said, hand warm on his upper arm.  
“Nowhere,” he said, shivering under Trent’s touch, “just sitting for a change.”

He didn’t sound like himself, voice tired and quiet. Every part of himself stripped away, laid out like his clothes strewn all over the room, and he couldn’t fault Trent for not liking what he saw because he couldn’t bring himself to like it either. 

Chuck’s arm still prickled from where Trent had touched him, a branded hand print on his skin. His fingers itched for another swig of bourbon, but they were long out of anything that could stave off the impending headache, so he reached for his phone instead and swiped through his contacts. It was much too early to call anyone, his phone told him that it was 5:07 am, but it was nice to think about someone else for a change, someone who existed outside of those four shitty walls.

Nothing was real if it wasn’t in front of him, he couldn’t begin to process the thought of phoning someone like Gulak or Orange, and having them actually pick up. The thought of Orange at their home, in his bed, it was hard to picture. Nothing was real except for the feeling of Trent pulling his phone out of his hand, squeezing and yanking just a little too hard.

Trent threw his phone across the room and Chuck’s tired eyes tracked the motion of it, watching as it hit the floor with a dull thud. He wasn’t mad, he couldn’t bring himself to get mad at Trent anymore, and he went willingly when Trent pulled him back to lay on the lumpy mattress.

That old saying about making your bed and lying in it popped into his head, and he huffed out a sigh, watching the red against the wall again. 

He hated cliches. So why did he feel like one?

Over the roar in his head and Trent’s breath in his ear, he could only think one thing. Something that his mouth was opening to say before he could even try to stop it.

“We’re bad for each other.” Chuck said, his voice gravel-thick and broken in the non-silence of that shitty motel.

He flinched as soon as his own words fell onto his ear, feeling Trent go stiff at his side. Chuck waited for...for something, something that he couldn’t even begin to prepare for. His dumb observation could ruin everything that he had fought so hard to keep, and he wasn’t prepared for his life to go to shit at five in the morning.

When Trent spoke, his voice was even and fully awake. Deadpan.

“You’re tired,” he muttered, “go to sleep. If you still feel that way when you wake up, we’ll talk about it.”

Whenever Trent said something, he could only listen. And, as he forced his eyes shut to try and get some form of sleep, he could only think that he’d have no choice but to take back what he said.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading. best friends deserved better. find me on tumblr @ [ or-ng-c-ss-dy ](https://or-ng-c-ss-dy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
